The Forest To Me
by sctwilightvampwolfgal
Summary: Toris is the forest to her, and as a nature photographer, what doesn't seem like a lot is so much than it first appears. *Nyo!America.* *Inspired by a couple prompts from AmeLiet Week 2019, Day Six.*


Everything shone from the twinkle and the sway of the bright, bright grass that swung in emerald, ivy, and shamrock shades, delicately hitting the light of the wind, fluttering softly against bare toes. Amelia had shucked off her sandals, out of a desire to feel the warmth of the sun leave invisible patterns on her skin, to feel the grass kiss her feet, and to know that somewhere in the early Summer air, she is at peace.

The camera twists and shifts in her hands, black and sparkling under the heat of the sun, and her smile springs forth like the dawning of Spring after a tumultous Winter, and she wonders if there's anything more beautiful than bark brown hair being lit up to such a delicate brown in the light or than forest green that shifts its shade under the light of the sun.

Is there anything more beautiful than the hint of sun ever so slightly darkening lighter skin, that never seems to reach the same level of tan that hers tends to reach in the Summer? Is there anything more colorful than a gentle smile, once marked timid, now marked alive? She doubts it as she looks up at him, feeling the ever shrinking of her height when she realizes that he seems just a hint taller than her, not enough to confirm by a glance, but just enough to feel somehow, in a way that makes her wonder if standing on her tiptoes is a relevant solution.

"Amelia, what is it that you wanted to capture?" Toris directs a hand to her camera, as if reminding her that the color in the air can be marked onto film, even if all of the atmosphere could not. Only a hint remained in pictures, in a way that made her wish that she was good at crafting sentences to define what not even the smallest bug could make sound as rich and beautiful as it truly was.

"I thought, of you." She wonders if that's too much to ask for. Amelia photographs nature, has always been memorized by the shades and hues that shift in colorful patterns around her world. She loved family vacations growing up, with an old camera in hand, trying to capture the brilliance of the sunset or the breath of the sunrise. It always required a sort of timing that can not be mastered overnight, but needs practice, long hours sitting or standing just in search of the right angle.

Amelia had a bad habit of taking almost no pictures of her family to capture the ice blue of the mountains that enter the sky in delicate peaks made harsh, capturing how tall and exotic the forests seemed that stretched beyond themselves as brown bark that held its own strength that faded to delicate leaves that could make one wonder when they realized that every leaf is its own shade of green instead of capturing a beautiful family that in Amelia's eyes seemed like everyone else's. It didn't matter that pictures of tourists were the images that people often regarded as unique, because to Amelia the weather, the sky, the air, the light always felt different and so unreal in a picture.

"Me?" Toris wonders, and she remembers that he hates having his picture taken, shies away from the light of a camera shutter, longs to be free of that stamp proclaiming that he existed. Amelia hates that thought, that someone so beautiful, so captivating, refuses to be viewed in the awe and light of just who he is.

Amelia wonders if it matters that she dreams of delicate meadows made more beautiful by a hand in hers that goes up from delicate fingernails to a slightly tanning arm to a shoulder sturdy enough to rest her head on and up to hair that reminds her of the trees that often left her in awe in her childhood. The shade of his eyes only furthers the image. She longs to capture a picture of him like those of the forests that she wandered through. There was always a chance for another picture, another angle, a way to meld reality into a still image and hopefully leave someone seeing from her eyes and appreciating the hidden work of nature.

"Yeah, you." She smiles past the half-laugh in her throat, and she wonders for the millionth time if love is insane. She knows that it isn't, but Amelia often knows that it is easy to feel like you've gone crazy from the rush of feelings in your chest, heart beating to its own worn rhythm, and mind crazy in love, hopeful for a bright future that is so unlike all of the past, even though the past wasn't bad.

Toris relents, smile half-tilted as if its in danger of disappearing, and he moves between two tall trees, only half their height. She smiles, because somehow the contrast reminds her that Toris is human, however her heart palpitates in her chest and however her lungs fill up her throat in joy. He is human, and not too reminscient of a tree.

Somehow his hair is darker and softer than the soft bark, and his eyes are greener and brighter than the multicolored leaves that shine green, but green is never just green. Amelia knows even as she fumbles for the words to describe just how each shade and hue turn into the light. She smiles as she lets the picture unfold, letting her own sense of control fade to the reassurance of the camera.

"You look great." And, she moves close enough to show him the picture where he shines like a beam of light. Amelia hopes that he can see it.

"I look ordinary." He responds, and Amelia frowns. He doesn't see the brightness of color within him, does not see the dance and sway of something impossible to name that somehow even shows up on camera and not just in their hearts, and he doesn't see the look that still lights up her face as she gazes at him.

Amelia wants to say that he is anything, but ordinary, "Toris, how could you say that?"

"I always look that way," And, it's as easy as a verbal shrug for him to say. Amelia's frown deepens.

"You can't tell me that you got used to your unique kind of brown and green and tan?" Amelia wonders if her words even convey half the things that she wishes for him to hear in them. Her words never seem as rich as the colors around her after all.

"But, my hair is dirt brown, and my eyes are just, green." Toris sighs, and Amelia questions how he could think that he just looks like everyone else with brown hair and green eyes. It's not the right way to describe him or the feelings in her chest when she looks up at him, because he's still taller than her somehow.

"Your hair is not dirt brown. It is bark brown, and your eyes are not just green, but forest green." Amelia sighs in frustration, "And you are more vivid than the trees that you stood by, more bright under the sun than they could ever hope to be. And you better appreciate that, because I love taking pictures of trees and grass and flowers and the rustling animals. I don't take pictures of people usually, but, you, are worth taking pictures of." Amelia feels breathless from her rant, but she just wants him to know what color is to her and what can be caught on film, caught on camera, and how only people or plants or animals or objects that the photographer deems worthy end up in a camera roll, end up waiting to be seen later on in vivid color.

Toris doesn't say anything, and as he looks at her, she hopes that he sees how she sees him finally. She steps closer, and somehow, it feels like a day when record can be hit, conversations memorialized and the sunlight being caught in streams in Toris's hair. Her hand barely intertwines with his, when her smile could rival the complexity of the sun, all the moving 'parts' working together.

Amelia leans against his shoulder, and imagines that somehow the camera can light up an experience and share it with others that might just not notice the beauty of it at first.


End file.
